


Snakes don't live in carpeted areas

by seratonation



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Loneliness, M/M, Or Is It?, Suit Porn, Tumblrs Fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seratonation/pseuds/seratonation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The New York Incident. It was strange; all the news stations called it that. Not the Alien Invasion, or the Catastrophe, or even the Attack on Manhattan. It was the New York Incident.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snakes don't live in carpeted areas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://seratonation.tumblr.com/post/30238763192/the-new-york-incident-it-was-strange-all-the) gif set (link to set and original fic) cleaned up and fixed. 
> 
> Title from the Joshua Bell and Regina Spektor's Left Hand Song

The New York Incident. It was strange; all the news stations called it that. Not the Alien Invasion, or the Catastrophe, or even the Attack on Manhattan. It was the New York Incident.

He wanted to go back to work, he really did, but Natasha and Fury and Hill had all insisted. Natasha even took all his bows, his car keys and his suit. Clint had no choice.

He knew, deep down that what he was doing wasn’t healthy, but he was never one to look after his own health, he mused as he buttoned up the white shirt. He liked the feel of the crisp material on his skin. Then he put the tie on, and he tried really hard to not think of it as a noose.

It was part of the uniform, and to Coulson it had been like a mask. Clint shrugged into the jacket, and the arms were a little tight, but as long as he doesn’t strain it, it’ll be fine. And he knew it was only his imagination, but the shoulders felt much heavier than the material warranted.

He walked around the empty house for a while, and finally found himself in the office. It was neat, and tidy. Everything was in the right place, right where it had been left. Everything except for a book on the desk, askew, as if it had been put down by someone who had been reading it when he was pulled away.

Clint picked it up, the cover rough under his fingers. There was a faded receipt in one of the pages, marking the last spot, so Clint flipped to the page and started to read. The words sounded wrong though, as if read by a voice that wasn’t his own.

He closed the book with a snap but didn’t put it down. Instead he took it with him back to the bedroom. He lay down and opened the book to the first page and started to read. Every once in awhile he’d pause and stare off into the distance. The voice was still not his own, but it wasn't strange anymore. 

Eventually he falls asleep, and when he woke up again, for one blissful second he thought it had all been a dream. Then he shifted and felt the book pressing into his ribs, the tie pulling at his neck. He pushed his nose into the covers and tried to go back, to pretend but it was too late.

He threw the book across the room, where it slammed against the wall before falling to the ground, then he got up in one movement and ripped the covers off the bed, then the sheets, and then the pillows, until there was nothing but the pale blue mattress and a few feathers floating down.

He collapsed onto the floor at the foot of the bed and closed his eyes, loosening the tie. He knew he ripped the jacket so eventually he’ll have to get up and take it off.

He took the tie off first, tossed it aside with the sheets. Then he shrugged the jacket off. He wondered if he should take it to be fixed but he couldn’t bear the thought of someone else’s hands touching it so intimately so he folded it and put it down on the mattress. Maybe he could fix it himself.

Then the shirt came next, followed by the pants. When he opened the closet he pulled out his own clothes this time, ignoring the rest of the neatly pressed suits on one side.

The floor was covered with sheets and feathers so he got up on the mattress to start his stretches. When he was loose limbed and feeling more like himself, he got down and picked up all the sheets, and walked out to throw them all in the washing machine. Only one pillow was salvageable, the rest will have to be replaced. Then he folded the suit and put it aside to take to the dry cleaners, sans the jacket.

Lastly, he picked up the book. The receipt had fallen out when he threw it across the room, so he picked it up too but now, over the faded type there were pen marks, small handwritten letters, picking out 9 characters.

_Wait for me_

“Phil?” Clint said, pressing his fingers to the wall where the book had hit. Then he felt foolish, but he folded the piece of paper and put it in his jacket pocket. Wait. He can do that.


End file.
